


A Vagabond of Libertarians

by anonymityfirstpriority



Category: Presentable Liberty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cheesiness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Minor Character Death, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Throuple, good ending, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 01:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymityfirstpriority/pseuds/anonymityfirstpriority
Summary: He's a prisoner. He should not be here, out in the outside world."Come on, friend. We are almost there. Away from..." Salvadore did not have to finish that sentence.Away from his prison, the crushing loneliness, Dr. Money's clawing greed. Charlotte was ahead of them, scouting the woody terrains that surround their rustic hometown. She turns to them, beckoning. Moonlight spills through the expansive blanket of clouds, and for a moment, as Sal turned away from him and rushed to her, he saw everything in crisp clarity. The trees were dressed in pale lights; standing tall and imposing all around him, their silhouettes taking up the whole floor of the forest. He inhales the fresh pine air, letting it fill his lungs, letting everything sink in deep. The light added edge to the crevices of the quiet woodlands. Most of all, his friend's back facing him, light reflecting in their hair, their shadows covering him. Then the moon was veiled again.He rushed to join them in the darkness.He's with them. And that's liberating.





	A Vagabond of Libertarians

 

 

       It took them almost a week to get away from their ghost town. The ex-prisoner wishes they were faster though, but it is okay-Salvadore constantly reminds him-them, he was not alone anymore. Charlotte was in this too; it still shakes his world to know he has people by his side- _they_ were all liberated from the devious, crooked businessman ( _Devil_ , Charlotte says despairingly). The one who wrapped the whole world around his thumb and suck every penny and warmth, leaving them cold and numb, lands barren of souls and filled with bodies-the former convict stops himself when he felt a warm weight on his shoulder. Salvadore’s heat from his hand seeped into his gelid form: mirth dancing in his tired eyes, he spoke.

 

“Free, think free...friend.” So he was reminded, again.

 

  So he thought free, like a fish trying to think of walking on land, it seems downright incomprehensible. For a prisoner to ever have the notion of freedom was a hot commodity that is meant to be used sparingly. He tries, though. For his friend's sake. Like when Mr. Smiley wretchedly begged him to stay happy through his bright, gaudy letters.

 

    The rag-tag group reached the river by a hair's breadth before the sun settled down for the night. They chose the river because Sal said it looked beautiful. Charlotte took that flimsy reason with open arms just to get away from her dead town. He was in the same boat, any place far from his lonely hellhole was a good place. The prisoner stops to survey his rugged, worn group. He keeps asking them if they were alright, and if they needed anything else; throughout the week he was like this ("Clucking like a mother hen," Sal jibes), and he has no intention of ever stopping. Sal rolls  his eyes. Charlotte laughs, the sound reminds him of strings of tiny silver bells ringing in a bakery shop. “We won’t drop down dead, but we will drop down to rest,” She says in a good-natured way. Already her spirit convalescent.

 

 _But you almost did_. He stopped himself. Sal and Charlotte both noticed, to their credit they did not say anything.

 

 He remembers how his heart sunk down to his stomach when he saw Sal still body on the floor near the generator. How then his heart rebound from the depths of his soul in pure glee when he caught his heart beating on strong. With jittery energy, he scooped him up and rushed to the nearest building-now that he goes over that scene, it does not make sense as to why he did what he did, but he was glad that his past self-made those stupid decisions. Because he stopped Charlotte from hurting (killing) herself just in time.

 

Laughter bubbles up from his chest when he remembers Charlotte’s shocked face. He imagines them, from her perspective, and saw a madman carrying an almost dead man in a bridal style, shouting with a deranged tilt to his voice. Volume increasing with every word, “Help! He needs treatment-now! H-He got electrocuted. For goodness sake woman, _you're bleeding!?_ ”

 

Hysteria combined with confusion rolled through the quaint little pastry shop like wildfire that day. A miracle, for once in his life, must have granted him the capabilities to save their lives somehow, and them the ironclad will to power through. Two days passed when Salvadore recovered; he managed by slightly frazzled and with wonky hand-eye coordination, which will go away with time and patience. The scars on his body won’t.

 

Charlotte was confused and took a few more days for her to recover, not physically but mentally. Re-adjusting to having people in her life once again was not an easy task. Many strong emotions sizzled to the surface, good and bad. And the only way she knows how to cope is to bake. She's beyond happy to have friends but scared out of her wits to the prospect of losing them. Again.

 

( "I get that you're trying to be helpful Charlotte, but he needs rest, not trays of pear tarts. No-no, it's not the fact that he can't use his hands-wait, don't stuff him. He'll choke.  We just got him back to life. Please be considerate of our efforts."

Charlotte looked at him with unnerving intensity. The pastry she was holding half away into the said used-to-be-dead man's mouth, "But I- _want to"_. He thought she was seconds away from crying.

Sal does not know whether he was having the time of his life or worry that his stomach will rupture from the oncoming loads of baked goods. God, they're so delicious.  "Mmmfhp," Sal tried to talk, gesticulating to his nervous friend. "No Sal, I just ate. Charlotte, no, don't go back to the kitchen  _please_." )

 

And just- _just_ when they were deemed acceptable to move on in his eyes, Lady Luck-the shrewd witch-ghosted him along with his ductile fortitude, leaving his body to collapse out of sheer exhaustion. Sal said he was practically in a coma for two whole days. They pretty much took turns nursing each other. Sal smiled at him when he said this as he tried to spoon feed rice porridge to the poor blushing man. Charlotte was fussing over the kitchen counter, frustrated that she can't find one of those bitter pills to medicate him with. She turned back, "Sal keep mopping his head, dear. His head is functioning as its own oven." Sal quipped a "Yes Ma'm" and pinned him with a mischievous, jubilant grin.

 

(‘Why didn’t you just _leave_ ?” Self-hatred and bile burn the back of his throat; his head ebbed with dull, throbbing pain. "He could've sent forces-or whatever-you guys could have died” _Again_. The word unbidden, just moments away from escaping his quivering lips. He miserably choked out, “It’s my _fault_ -” A slap resounded throughout the bakery, the side of his face stings. Charlotte, tears pricking the corner of her eyes, was _furious_. Few feet behind her, Sal has his arms crossed, his face vacant, his eyes stone cold. "Don’t you _ever say that again_.”)

 

 _That_ memory spears through his mind, he grits his teeth. He chalked up his moody dilemma as a result of many months of being isolated and roused up from his two-days coma.

 

Hours passed while they slept in their shabby camp, and it was time to move on. After they took a while to gather their belongings, they all continue on their journey. As they were walking by the river, the sun gently rose up from the hills, slowly bringing its’ petals of sunshine to cascade them in warmth. Just as the serene vicissitude brought by the sun, the sky dark blue color slowly faded to purple then soft pink and finally, bright blue reigned over the heavens above.

 

While they were trekking up the valley, Sal started a conversation. “This reminds me of my journey from before I found you guys. I had no clear goal in mind, just walking where my heart aches to go.” A wide grin spread through his face. “Not the best way to go about things, especially now, since who knows how severe the virus is.”

 

Charlotte tutted. “Let us not worry about that. You’ve been out of the quarantined town unharmed, I have as well, and so did he. The virus started many months ago, and everyone in our town was affected but us. We sure as my beautiful frosted cakes won’t be affected now. We are immune. I am certain. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here at all. ”

A moment pass. "On the other hand, everyone is too dead to pass it on to another, anyways." That explanation was more probable to them.

 

The former jailbird slowly trailed behind them, not paying attention to the conversation, and more enamored at the scenery he was submerged in. And he is sure they won’t include him in their discussions. They know he is a man of few words.

 

He peered down at the silvery stream. Lights refracted and contained in the body of moving water, making it seem like he was staring at liquid silver. He caught a large fish undulating, its nose touched the surface and suddenly dashed forward to snap up an unsuspecting insect. He watches with awe.

 

He was very ignorant of nature before his imprisonment; he never quite realized how blessed he was to feel things he was currently feeling. He wishes to experience more of nature. He hopes to see a deer next.

 

His two friends were further away now, so he sped up his pace to catch up them, just in time to hear Sal complaining about how boring the breakfast this morning was (berries and cherry tarts), “Those cherry tarts were not boring,” Charlotte said with offended gasp, “plus, I still have more. So if you're hungry I must apologize, but these are the only food we will have till break, or even better if we find another town.” Charlotte said this as she brought out wrapped goodies out of the large pockets of her long, frilly petticoat.  "Even better, unaffected." She added.

 

“How in the world do we still have more? I could have sworn I ate them all this morning...:” Sal asked with bewilderment. Charlotte made a rainbow gesture and said, “My love for baking knows no bounds, dear.”

 

”Whatever, I’ll cobble up traps for some kill-a man such as I need meats! Lots of it! If only….if I remember how to make them correctly; should be easy. But I’ll most likely end up fishing, that’s easier. I am called the master of crafts for a reason so no worries, hey...”Sal beckoned the prisoner towards him. He went forward and tilted his head in a questioning manner. Sal smiled. “Remember the time we took wood carving classes and ended up almost cutting our fingers off? The master kicked us out for ineptness...but we eavesdrop through the windows anyways, and somehow, we managed to master the craft. Even so as far as advancing ahead of others. Those moments were so simple and joyful..” Sal sighed, overcome with nostalgia and a tint of heartache.

 

“Oh...I forgot you guys grew up together.” Charlotte said. “Yeah, but then we went on separate roads after middle school. Things happened, and those things changed us, imagine my surprise when our first reunion was in prison.” Sal chuckled. Then he stopped, his eyes wide. Panic etched on his face, Charlotte raised her eyebrow and slowly turned to see what shook him up so much, and yelped.

 

 Cacophonous buzzing filled the quiet, crisp air, debauching the peace of the early morning. The prisoner smelled the stench first. Sickening and heavy, he immediately knew what it was. He smelled a lot of corpses when he was serving his time. His ole shithole of prison went through a dreary stage of the suicide epidemic. Almost everyone simply lost their will or minds and decided to take their dreadful situation into their own hands. Ending their misery forever. Can’t say he blamed them, he had few temptations as well.

 

 He looked at the dead body with something akin to an apathetic wonder and fell to his usual state of contemplation. _That man would have been me if I had given up_...This man had long past died from the virus, the blood spewed from all orifices were coal black, a broth for the swarm of flies. His body was puffed up and rigid. Like a fat doll with leathery skin, stuffed with coarse pieces of cotton. Charlotte gagged and turned around; Sal kept on looking. “Hey...this man, he is no different from any other. Surely you’ve seen plenty of corpses on your journey?” The prisoner asked. Sal gaze slowly moved to him.

 

“I know him. He’s a friend of mine from school.” Oh. The group turned to each other, their thoughts and feelings held against the morbid landscape. A land ruined by one man. His sin of greed evident in what laid before them.

 

“What was the point?” Charlotte, the first to break the silence, lashed out. Her anger was shining loud and clear through her booming voice. "Doctor Money. He let millions die, duped thousand more with his fake cure...and only a hundred survive because they were wealthy enough to afford healthy organs. But...then what? What will he even take? Is there anything for him to possess? He has everything, money, blood...Does he want a kingdom? Few hundreds is barely a kingdom, he would be a king of a lost cause. So _what was the point_? ”

 

Sal whispers, the prisoner strains his ears to catch the words, “I... don't know." He looked down at the floor, like all the problems in the world was his fault to rectify.

 

 The prisoner felt his heart lurch at his friend's crestfallen expression; so he calmly responds to her. “There never was any point, Charlotte. It would be mad for us sane people to figure out the mechanism in the mind of a deranged individual. Some prisoners that I knew liked-not killing-but the process of it. The thrill they get when they hunt down their prey, the lust that comes to them like shockwaves when they play with the victims to their liking.” He paused and sighed shortly afterward, “Charlotte, trying to fight against what already happened is pointless in itself. Letting it out is completely fine, but it can’t deter us from living our lives.”

 

 Charlotte hesitated, but she knows that he is right. The prisoner thought she was done until he saw something intense simmering in her eyes. Defiance? She looked at Sal and then at the prisoner. “Promise me. Promise me you will fight back if he catches us, promise me that we will stick together. That, even when all is hopeless and gone, promise me that you guys will think of us, together, and soldier on strong….because”  She looked determined. Like she is already prepared for war.

 

“We are all we have left.”

 

 And he knows that was true. Sal clenched his fists, a spark of determination pooled in his eyes as well, washing away the dismal mood from before. He said, “We promise.”  

 

They almost died before, never again will they touch the Grim Reaper’s scythe if they can help it. They have something to fight for now. People to fight with.

Beginnings of hot droplets spill forth from the prisoner’s eyes, his throat burns, and he looks away before they notice. God, he was tired of being _alone_. He didn’t understand how he never broke down from spending years in forced solitude. Maybe he was just stubborn; maybe he was too hopeful. He’ll take both because he now has two of beloved people in his life. He gave a wide smile and turned to them. They both looked at him and gave him a smile of their own. Charlotte huffed out an exasperated sigh when she saw his tear tracks, clear and shining in the sunlight. Sal laughed.

 

“Come on now, I think we all have enough of sentimental talks around bloody dead bodies,” Sal said, he wrapped an arm around the prisoner, and his grin widens more when he gave out an undignified yelp. Sal thought Charlotte was going to cry too when he heard a sniffle from her direction. He stretched out his other arm to her in a welcoming gesture. She saw this and ran to his embrace the prisoner from the other side, mimicking Sal’s move. As they walked arms-in-arms, the prisoner silently made an oath to himself. A surge of protectiveness swirled in his chest, he thought. _I can’t lose them. I_ **_won’t_ ** _lose them_. The warmth he’s swathed in from the tight embrace cements his thought into a will. He smiles with heartfelt affection when he looks at both of them. He wants to trap this moment like a firefly and never let go. His friends are safe in his hands, and his life in theirs.

 

  And so, as they walk to a path out of their homeland, they move certainly to the next chapter of their gloriously free lives. Together.


End file.
